Albeit, Alright
by p for pseudonymous
Summary: A series of one-shots based on the life of Whitley Fawley (OC), primarily the blossoming romance between her and Oliver Wood even as she clings to a Hufflepuff heartthrob.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: It should be noted that this document is a work of fanfiction and therefore any recognizable characters, events, ect. do not belong to me.

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Chapter One: The Boy on the Street

Diagon Alley, Just before Whitely Fawley's first year

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The streets were never quiet here. Even now, as a large white feline pranced past a purple storefront, sped up when the opening of a large orange door almost smacked its tail end, and was shortly followed by a young girl. Whitley Fawley was not particularly quick on her feet; something, her father noted, that meant she'd have to work up to learning a powerful shielding charm in her rapidly approaching school days. Whitely's mother always tutted at that thought though because to her, the little girl scant be in danger anyhow. No, the most nonsense Whitely had ever participated in came only after she tugged on her elder brother's coat sleeve and begged to be brought along and now, it seemed, when she followed her feline whom—not to not be mentioned—had hopped out of her arms before Whitely had even had the time to rub the kitty behind its ears and give it a name.

Indeed, the open doors of Magical Menagerie were disappearing ever so hopelessly in the distance. With a quick curse towards those open doors—and the owners wonder how their clever crows always end up escaping!—Whitely dove towards her newly purchased pet. This action resulted in three sounds: the first, a tight gasp as Whitely scrapes her knees across the harsh stone pathway; the second, a long mewl of disappointment as she simultaneously wraps her arms around the white cat; and third, a strangled groan when she next lands on something softer than the stone she had dragged her knees across.

Looking down, Whitely sees a boy, about her age but distinctly _older_ in both the way his jaw was shaped and his robes smelled. She would never place that smell but she'd find it again on her sleeve and in her potions lesson a few years later. "You wouldn't fancy getting off me would you?" wheezed the boy before Whitely even realized her elbow was jammed in the spot below his ribs.

"So sorry," she blushed while clambering up with the large un-named kitten in her arms.

The boy stood up himself, adjusting to full height more than a few good inches above Whitley's own head, and gave the fluffy mange a good pet. "Has it got a name yet?" he asked, his eyes looking softer on the feline than his stature would suggest being plausible.

Whitely adjusted the now purring cat and sighed, "she… no. Should've known she was the last kitten in the box for a reason. Bloody kit ran off before I could think of one."

The boy laughed at this, "kitten?" he seemed astounded, "she's huge." Whitely regarded her oversized pet with a small gleam of pride—for some reason owning an oversized adventurer of a cat seemed very much like an a compliment in that moment—and it seemed to purr even louder at the comment. "Well, she's got to be named," the boy continued to insist.

Whitely thought the boy seemed rather like her father's friend Newt Scamander, with all his fondness of creatures, so she hummed softly before clicking her tongue in decision. "Give her a name then…" she paused at the crinkle in the corners of her new comrade's eyes, "I mean do you have any suggestions?"

"Wadcock," he stated definitively.

She laughed loudly at this but neither the cat nor the boy startled anyhow. "Quidditch fan are we? Well I'm not quite privy to Wadcock but I'll take her first name, Joscelind." The trio all seemed to agree with this, the newly named Joscelind giving a contended stretch of her claws, and both wizard as well as witch seemed to be remembering long past quidditch games. Whitely herself recalled visiting the used-to-be pitch of Joscelind Wadcock—'famed chaser scores highest number of goals for the British league in this century! What shampoo does she use? What flowers must you buy her to woo her heart?' were the headlines—to watch the now aged witch's past team Puddlemere United. The Scamanders live in Dorest so close to the field that you can hear the cheering when Puddlemere is having a particularly good night.

"Well I'd best be off now," the boy interrupted her memory, "off to the quidditch shop… they released the new Cleansweep model today at noon and it's a minute past!"

He was gone before Whitely could even take a breath; and she realized then, as the other magic folk called back at forth across the street to one another, that even though he had named her cat she did not have a name to call the boy on the street himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I have edited the ages of some of the member's of the Fawley family as well as the Scamander family to be different from what is cannon (in this story being younger by a generation) and can post a descriptive family tree and notes if you would like! I can also tack on the cannon listing of students sorted into Whitley's year (all these come with some short notes on cannon character qualities that I've collected for possible use of the story)

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Chapter Two: Swept Towards the Table

Hogwarts, Whitley's first year

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The Hogwarts express was just as her brother Sullivan had told her it would be. Though, she always knew it would be. Sullivan always told the truth and it made Whitely look like the naughty child, her mouth occasionally dirty with whispered curses and white lies. But Whitely told herself she was honest when it counted, and that's all that mattered. So long as she was never caught in the act—he mother once put a spell on her where she'd had a severe case of the hiccups that had lasted all the way until next morning after letting her hear her say the word 'damn'—all was well.

The trolley lady was just as sweet as she'd been informed, allowing Whitely to purchase three packages of Dragon Claws when Whitely knew well and good that her mother only ever allowed one to be eaten before dinner; the seats were just as scratchy and somehow still just as plush as had been boasted; and when passing through the moor land she saw a flock of tiny Golden Snidgets swooping about as promised. The last bit made her think of the boy on the street and his love of quidditch as well as his fondness toward Joscelin her ill-mannered cat. She wondered if he knew of the Golden Snidget's past use in the game and supposed he must, and if not then she had a key speaking point for the next time they encountered one another.

When Hogwarts was reared in the distance Whitely shared a grin with her compartment-mates, anticipating the sorting, the ghosts, and the ever floating candles that awaited. She knew, perhaps too much, about the magic of Hogwarts as Sullivan loved to speak of it on holidays. Still, as she stepped into the grand hall, fingers still wet from running them through the water as her boat rocked gently across the lake—the boy she shared her ride with seemed to enjoy tipping the sides back and forth despite her stern words against it and so Whitely mentally pre-sorted him into Slytherin in that moment—her breath escaped her lungs.

Stonewalls scaled up into the sky, the glimmer of starlight half dimmed by the thin night mist and candle light blending into one; colors came in splashes, milling among the four large wooden tables engulfing the floorspace: silver and green, bronze and blue, gold and red, and lastly—her family house hues—yellow and black.

There was never much of a question on what house her or her brother would end up in. Perhaps that was because her parents instilled in their children the same qualities their Hufflepuff head of house had done in them, a tradition carried so down far the line of blood one could not even see where it began. Though, her Father had mentioned a Great Great Great Grandfather in Slytherin—a self starting business man or something of the such—but that was almost something to be expected considering their pure blood status and the inclusion of the Fawley name in the 'Sacred Twenty-eight.' Though, her parents never much mentioned their listing on the pureblood wizarding registry. Perhaps it was because they were typed in somewhere between Black and Malfoy.

So after "Diggory, Cedric" was swept towards the table she knew her brother was currently sitting at, Whitley's shoulders did not even shake. No, she only shook after the crinkly and unassuming hat's announcement, moving to the opposite side of the hall as to where her now confused brother was, a sea of blue and bronze claiming her, and her brain rattling so hard she didn't even get to hear "Davies, Rogers" be sorted into the same home as her.


End file.
